


Locked Out

by eternaleponine



Series: Clexathon 2016 [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 02:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8731051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: This is what happens when someone decides to tell me that they don't believe that I can write fluff.





	

"Don't wait up," Anya said, winking, and Lexa just rolled her eyes at her. She shut the car door and jogged to catch the front door before it closed behind the old guy from apartment 3C with the penchant for watching old westerns really late at night. Which Lexa knew because she lived in 4C, and the sound bled up through the floorboards. She didn't know if the walls (and floors and ceilings) were that thin, or if he just cranked the volume really, really loud. "Thanks," she said, even though he hadn't actually been holding it for her. Given the fact that he gave absolutely no indication whatsoever that he'd heard her, she suspected it was probably the latter. Or maybe a little of both, considering the other things she sometimes heard coming from the surrounding apartments. 

She jogged up the stairs because the elevator was slow, and smelled of puke, piss, bleach, or some combination thereof 99% of the time.

"'Move in with me,' she said. 'It'll be fun,' she said. 'It's not _that_ bad of a neighborhood,' she said." Lexa grumbled all the way up to her floor. She got to the door and reached into her pockets... and realized that her keys were in her gear bag. Which was still in the trunk of Anya's car. Also in her bag? Her phone. So she couldn't even call Anya to tell her to come back. 

"Fuck," she grumbled. "Fuck!" She slammed her fists against the wall, then slid down it, putting her head in her hands and gripping handfuls of her hair like she might tear it out. She had a paper she needed to be writing right now, and instead she was locked out of her apartment in a building where she didn't know anyone, and although she had just come from a martial arts class, she really wasn't in the mood to test the efficacy of the skills she'd learned by knocking on the wrong door. 

She blinked hard, her eyes stinging, and tried to figure out what to do now. She could go to a coffee shop or something, kill a few hours there... but her wallet was in her fucking bag, too. God, how could she be such an idiot?

She wrapped her arms over her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight, and prayed to whatever powers might be that Anya might somehow have been joking about the whole 'don't wait up' thing.

* * *

Clarke juggled the bags she was carrying and the canvas she'd wedged under her arm to fumble through her purse. How was it possible to completely lose your keys in the time it took to travel from the front door to the fourth floor? "This thing is like a black hole," she said. "Things disappear into it, never to be seen again." She shook it, and in doing so heard jangling in one of the other bags. Somehow she'd managed to accidentally drop them in with her art supplies. She breathed a sigh of relief as she jammed the key into the lock and twisted. It was only when she turned to close it behind her that she saw the girl sitting across the hall, curled into a ball next to the door of 4C.

"Mind your own business, Clarke," she said. But she never minded her own business. Ever. Not when there was someone who looked like they might need help. She crouched down next to her and touched her shoulder. "Hey," she said. "Hey, you okay?"

The girl jerked, her head coming up so fast she nearly knocked it against the wall. She looked at once terrified and murderous, until she processed that Clarke wasn't a threat. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah. Fine." She patted her pocket and then frowned, her jaw clenching. "What time is it?"

"A little after eleven," Clarke said. "Why?"

"Seriously?" Her jaw clenched again, but this time it looked like she was fighting back some sort of overwhelming emotion. "Okay. Thanks."

The way she said it made it seem like it was meant to be a dismissal, but Clarke wasn't that easily dissuaded. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Because you don't _look_ okay." She didn't. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, like she'd been crying, and let's face it, sitting in a hallway by yourself wasn't exactly normal behavior, and _sleeping_ there even less so. She didn't _look_ like she was homeless, but you never knew anyone's story unless you asked, right?

"I'm fine," she said. "I just..." She heaved a sigh. "I'm an idiot. I left my keys in my bag, and my bag in my roommate's car."

"How did you get in without a key?" Clarke asked. 

"I caught the door after someone else," she said. 

"Why don't you just call your roommate? Have them come back?"

"My phone was in my bag, too," the girl said. "Like I said, idiot."

"You can use mine," Clarke said. 

At that the girl flushed. "I don't actually know her number," she said. "We rely on technology so much, who actually learns phone numbers anymore?"

She had a point. If Clarke had been asked to rattle of anyone's phone number but her mom's, she wouldn't have been able to tell them. "When will she be back?"

"I'm sure she'll be home soon," the girl said, but it was obviously a lie. 

"Well, you can come chill at my place until she gets back," Clarke offered. "And don't say no, because I'm not going to let you sit out here all night. I'm Clarke, by the way." She offered a hand, and after a second's hesitation, the girl reached out and took it. 

"Lexa."

Rather than shaking, Clarke used it to pull her up, and didn't let go. "Come on, Lexa. It's freezing out here anyway."

She closed and locked the door once Lexa was inside, and watched her as she took in the cluttered space. She'd only moved in a couple of weeks ago, and she still hadn't managed to unpack everything. It didn't help that it was the end of the semester and she had a million and one things that she needed to do that had taken precedence. "Sorry for the mess," she said. "Make yourself at home. Just move stuff around if you need to."

Lexa didn't say anything, but after a second she took off her coat and hung it up. Underneath she was just wearing a dark tank top and a pair of white pants. Clarke's eyebrows went up as she saw goosebumps raise on her skin. "Let me get you something," she said, and turned to go find Lexa something to wear. She half-expected that she would disappear while she was out of the room, but if she had anywhere else to go, wouldn't she have gone there instead of sleeping in the hall?

She didn't make it more than a few steps, though. "Actually, if you really want to warm up you can take a shower," she offered. 

"I'm okay," Lexa said. "But thank you."

"You're not, though," Clarke said. "No offense, but you kind of stink."

Lexa ducked her head and groaned. "It’s not me!" she said. "I mean, it _is_ me, but it's not... There's a guy who trains, and he's super nice and fun to work with, but... hygiene isn't his strong suit. And sometimes the smell... lingers. I'm sorry."

"No worries," Clarke said. "I'll find you a towel."

It wasn't until Lexa was in the shower that she realized that she wouldn't have anything to change _into_. Clarke rummaged through her drawers until she found something that was both clean and that would fit Lexa... and laughed to herself as she cracked open the door of the bathroom. 

"I'm not looking, I swear," Clarke said. "And I'm not going to go Psycho on you. I'm all out of Hershey's syrup." Clarke might have imagined the sound that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh. "Although actually..."

"I'm not sure if I want to know the end of that sentence or not," Lexa said, over the sound of the water. 

Clarke did laugh at that. "Don't worry," she said. "I left you some clothes."

"Thanks."

Clarke closed the bathroom door and went into what passed for a kitchen, shoving things aside until she found what she was looking for, and got to work.

* * *

Lexa grabbed the towel and dried off quickly, trying to squeeze as much water out of her hair as possible so that she wouldn't spend the rest of the night with it dripping down her back. Which honestly was mostly a lost cause, but she could try. 

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," she said, seeing what Clarke had left for her to put on. Flannel pajamas. _Pink_ flannel pajamas. With rubber ducks printed all over them. But what choice did she have? She couldn't put back on the clothes that reeked of someone else's BO. So she slid into them, and if they were ridiculous, they were also ridiculously comfy. 

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grimaced. Her eyes were bloodshot, and felt gritty. Sleeping in her contacts was never a good thing, even if it was only for a couple of hours. In the hallway. She saw a box of random toiletries on the floor and found a half-used bottle of contact solution, along with an empty case. They didn't seem like they were being used, so she rinsed out the case and put her contacts in, glad that at least her glasses weren't in her bag along with everything else.

"Oh my god," Clarke said as she turned around. "You are fucking adorable."

Lexa felt heat rush to her cheeks. "I used the contact stuff that was in the box in there," she said. "I hope you don't mind."

"I don't," Clarke said. "It was my ex's. When I packed, I just kind of dumped everything from the counter into the box. I didn't give a shit whose it was. Anything that's not mine I'll just dump. I left in kind of a hurry."

Lexa pursed her lips, not sure what to say to that. "What...?"

"Oh!" Clarke turned and picked up a mug, holding it out to her. "Hot chocolate. No Hershey's syrup, but I had cocoa powder. And whipped cream. And festive sprinkles."

Lexa looked down at the mug, and sure enough, on top of the giant mound of whipped cream was crystals of red sugar like they trotted out at Starbucks around Christmas. "Thank you," she said. "For everything."

"If this was a romantic comedy, this would be our meet-cute," Clarke said. 

Lexa raised an eyebrow and sipped her cocoa. "Who says it's not?"

**Author's Note:**

> So anything that actually happens in the Where There Is A Flame-verse will get posted as part of that series, which you can [subscribe to here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/546589) if you want to receive notifications when anything having to do with that world posts, rather than just new chapters on the main series.
> 
> Everything else I will post to a series I have creatively named Clexathon, which can be subscribed to [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/598180).
> 
> Still taking prompts, btw! Email eternaleponine [at] gmail, Tumblr ironicsnowflake, or comment!


End file.
